


Taking It Slow

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coulson has to work on some issues, Cuddling & Snuggling, Disability, Disabled Character, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Hair Washing, Hotels, Post-Finale, Skye and her Huge Crush on Coulson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 04:47:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3964921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Driving Lola suits her, Coulson thinks.</p>
<p>(Post season 2 finale feelings)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking It Slow

Between the blood he's lost and the painkillers he's going to be out for a while yet, but Skye wants to be here when he wakes up, it doesn't matter if she has to spend the night.

There's so much stuff that's messed up right now, and she would want to be numb but she can't. She was never any good at being numb. She concentrates on guarding Coulson's bedside quietly, keep darker thoughts at bay. He looks pale but he looks peaceful, and the doctors just told everybody he'll be okay with a few hours' rest, giving him some antibiotics just in case there's a chance of infection.

He doesn't have visitors but in passing – everybody else too occupied with the clean up, the aftershocks of what just happened.

She knows she should probably be occupied too.

Jemma makes a lot of tea, which Skye lets get cold, mostly, but she eventually drinks it anyway.

Mack comes by, after spending what seems hours at Bobbi's bedside.

"How is she?" Skye asks.

Mack makes a complicated face.

"She's the toughest person I've ever known. She'll pull through," he says. "The doctors are worried about the leg, though. They don't know–"

He stops.

Skye looks over at Coulson.

Coulson's a field agent, like Bobbi. Yeah. She gets it.

She shakes her head slightly.

"I heard you were leaving," she tells Mack. She understands it, she does, specially from someone like Mack. But after today she finds the idea of losing him a bit too sad to contemplate. "Before all this, I heard you were going to leave us."

"I was," he says. Skye arches an eyebrow. "I don't know. After what went down I'd like to think things through again." He points at Coulson. "Actually I was hoping I could talk to the man about it soon."

"Well, I hope he convinces you to stay," Skye tells him.

Mack stares back with a cute embarrassed face at her earnestness, then gives Coulson another look over.

"And I hope cutting off the boss' hand doesn't get me fired," he says.

Skye laughs. She's always liked Mack's bluntness. She wishes she knew him better. She hopes she'll get a chance in the future.

"If I know Coulson," she says, "he'll give you _a promotion_."

Mack does a low, quiet chuckle and nods. He probably got that vibe too. She looks at him. She'd like to thank him – he saved Coulson's life. She'd like to stand up and just hug him. She doesn't.

"Well, I'm going to see if anyone needs me in the hangar," Mack says. Skye is about to tell him to go get some sleep, but who among them can sleep tonight. Only the ones being drugged into it by doctors. The rest are awake.

She nods and lets him start to walk away from Coulson's bed.

"Hey, Mack?"

He turns around. "Yeah?"

"You were really great out there," she tells him.

"You too, Tremors."

Skye rolls her eyes.

"Oh so that's gonna stick?"

"I think it is," he tells her.

Everything goes very quiet after Mack leaves, and it's later, and everybody else is asleep or guarding other bedsides, quietly waiting for beloved broken bodies to mend. May and Weaver are holed up in Coulson's office, making calls, taking point, making decisions where decisions need to be made immediately. Skye thinks about going to see her father, but she can't just yet.

She watches Coulson sleep. He looks smaller than usual, there lying in the gurney. She's never seen him like this, so still and lifeless. The peacefulness of his breathing gives Skye reassurance, but she misses his eyes. With his eyes closed he's not really Coulson, her Coulson (okay, he's not _hers_ , but it's three o'clock and it's been a long day of her mother trying to kill everbody, so), he's someone else.

A part of her wants him to rest for like four weeks straight, but another, more insistent, part is very glad when Simmons tells her that the painkillers are wearing off and he'll be conscious within the next hour.

"Hey," Skye calls when she sees him beginning to stir awake.

Coulson turns his head towards the sound of her voice and frowns before he opens his eyes, his face only slightly bruised from the fight this time, of course nothing compared to his other injury.

"Skye," he says, like he's surprised the world is still here and even more so that she's sitting by his side.

He looks at her, a bit confused, a bit helpless.

"I'm here," she says, touching his shoulder a moment, to reassure him that she really is here, with him, she's not going anywhere.

He seems to settle down, narrowing his eyes at her. 

"Why am I here?" he asks, looking at the lab doors, looking at the monitors. There's no need for him to be monitored but Skye is grateful for it, for an empiric way of telling he's all right. She feels too frayed, too worn out, to believe in it herself without that extra help.

"It's fine, we just let you sleep a bit. Remember?"

He nods. Skye can see his eyes sobering up. She feels like she hasn't talked to him in a long time, months maybe. She talked to him yesterday, before they put him under, when he tried to comfort her about Jiaying, when they together gave the order to keep Cal guarded but not in the vault.

"Oh yeah," he says, looking at his left arm under the sheets, but clearly feeling exactly _everything_. "That wasn't a dream."

Skye drops her gaze a moment. It's hard not to think how she led him here. "No, it wasn't a dream. Sorry."

"It's okay," Coulson mutters, automatically.

She snorts, remembering the Gothic horror scene of her father crushing her mother's bones in front of her. Skye can still hear that sound. Nothing is okay right now. Maybe it could be, someday. Definitely not tonight. Nothing is okay about a good man like Coulson losing his hand to save a lot of people. And all because Skye's mother – 

"No, it's not," Skye tells him. "It's not okay," she says.

"It's okay," he tells her again, trying to sit up. "I just need to–" 

She puts his hand over his chest to stop him from moving. It seems like he doesn't have much energy to resist, he kind of drops at the contact. His body is warm and real and _he's alive_ and Skye thinks she would want to twist her fingers into the fabric of his t-shirt and shake him for being so brave/stupid and almost leaving her alone when she could least afford to lose him too.

"Don't move," she tells him. "You don't have to–"

"There's a lot of work to do."

He's _so predictable_.

"I know," she says. "Starting with that are we going to do with my father."

Coulson rests his head on the pillow, like suddenly remembering all the events, and turns to stare straight at Skye. It's a bit too much, that stare. His eyelids look heavy but his glance is soft, sad but not for himself.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she says, for the millionth time it seems, and it's really not. She tries not to think about her mother trying to suck all the life out of her, either. "It's not, obviously. But – you know – a lot of people were going to die. We had to..."

She trails off, looking at his body again.

Coulson follows her gaze.

"It stings," he says, casually. "Like it's still there, only it stings. It's freaky."

Skye tries to smile.

Brave/stupid man.

 

+

 

Watching Skye give up his father is not easy.

In fact it's one of the hardest things Coulson has had to do lately. And lately has not been lacking in hard choices.

But this is different.

Somehow sadder than everything else.

Of course he can't help but think of his own father the whole time. He never wants Skye to know the kind of pain he's experienced. But he also realizes Skye knows a lot more about pain than he does, so the point is moot.

They discuss work, which is good. Something they are both good at. Another thing they are both good at: looking at the future. He promised Skye to help her keep the Inhumans secret from the world. Skye accepted his offer of leading her own team. They are both good at moving on, bad at licking their wounds. Even if those wounds definitely need licking.

He watches Skye start Lola's engine and the picture is both beautiful and strange. Both exhilarating and full of a newly-formed vertigo. Something he'd never thought he'd see, yet something that feels right.

"You know, I've never let anyone else drive Lola before," he tells her. "You're the first one."

"Well, you kind of _have_ to let me drive," Skye says, smiling and gesturing towards his arm in a sling.

Coulson looks at her, his heart full of shiny big things. It's not like he expected anyone on the team to tread on eggshells about what he lost but listening to Skye speak like this makes it all a lot better.

"Yes, but it's not that," he tells her. Because he feels like he wants her to know. "I would have let you drive her anyway."

She tilts her head. "Well, thanks."

Skye drives them smoothly out of town, her face tense the whole time until they reach city limits. She's thinking about her father, he can tell. But she's not talking about it.

"Hey. Can I drive her a bit longer?" she asks in the middle of the highway.

"What do you mean?"

He sees her frown a bit, scrambling for words.

"After seeing Cal settle into his new life, so to speak..." she starts. "I just don't want to be back in mine, not yet. Does that make sense to you?"

"Skye..."

"The work will be there tomorrow when we get back," she says.

Coulson has been thinking about it, too. He's had to take it slow, but it wasn't a choice, he struggled with it. They all could use a vacation, not just May.

"What were you thinking?" he asks.

"I don't know," she admits, not looking at him. "Spend the night in a hotel. There are a couple of really nice ones on the way. It'll be cool to sleep somewhere other than my bunk. And get room service, and have a long, hot bath."

"We didn't pack anything for the night, we–"

"Coulson, _please_ ," she cuts him off, staring at him from the corner of her eye. Her jaw is set. "Can we not be SHIELD agents getting ready for the next life-or-death fight? Just for one night? Can we be two friends having fun on a roadtrip?"

He looks at her.

It's a good image. Skye at the wheel while Lola drives them both away from heartache. Coulson thinks he should have told her to drive his car sooner. Coulson thinks he should have done a lot of things sooner.

"You really need this?" he asks her. Skye never asks for anything. Ever. This must be big.

Skye keeps her eyes on the road.

"Yeah I do."

"Than let me pick the hotel."

 

+

 

They get into the hotel quite late in the afternoon, but that's okay. The hotel restaurant is practically deserted and that suits Coulson just fine –Skye had very casually but very tactfully suggested room service, which Coulson very stubbornly declined, decided to feel normal– he's not uncomfortable about it – though he does order a sandwhich – but he had built a whole career upon being invisible, being the ordinary guy nobody noticed and everybody forgot as soon as he left a room, and now he catches the odd stare in his direction, he's not invisible anymore. Not necessarily something bad (he's not a spy) but maybe he should tell Andrew about feeling like that, like he's been robbed of his anonymity, of one of his biggest professional skills.

They have a nice quiet dinner. Skye loves hotels. She doesn't talk about today, about Cal, again, and Coulson guesses she won't do so for a long time. They talk about other stuff, and when they don't feel like talking they stay in companionable silence. Small talk is not for them, but Skye does inquire about how he rates the food in here, teasing Coulson for his culinary proclivities. Maybe they try a bit too hard. Maybe Skye feels she should have to enjoy this and not let ugly thoughts cloud her mind. They are good at that: trying too hard.

They get adjoining rooms and disappear into them after dinner.

He takes a relaxing, really long bath like Skye suggested and afterwards he settles over the bed covers to watch some tv. He slips back into his pants and his t-shirt, and he keeps his arm in the sling. He hasn't done this in such a excruciatingly long time, just messing around in a hotel room, lying in bed watching old movies. Once he stops feeling disoriented he actually enjoys it quite a bit.

Before midnight there's a knock on his door.

"What are you doing?" Skye asks him, wearing the hotel's luxurious bathrobe and her hair is wet from the bath. "Hotels are nice but I'm bored and I don't want to work. Which is inevitably where I'll end up."

Coulson gestures towards the tv screen. "Watching a movie."

"Your bed is bigger than mine," she says with a pointed look, like he's betrayed her somehow.

He smiles and scoots to one side of the bed, inviting her to come all the way inside his room.

Perhaps not very professional but Coulson has decided to give himself to impulses. Certain impulses. Within measure. He really saw death pretty up close for a moment there, that changes things. It already happened once before.

Skye sits on his bed, crosslegged. 

"Is it any good?"

"Pretty good," he says. He hopes. _Castle on the Hudson_. He vaguely remembers it. "John Garfield goes to jail and thinks he's going to be the king of the place but –"

"Prison is tough?"

"Speaking from experience?" he asks her playfully.

"Don't believe the stories about me," Skye replies, with a nice smirk on her lips. "One night in a county jail, that was all."

This is the first he's heard of it. Even after all this time Skye still has surprises to offer.

"Vandalism?" Coulson guesses.

She narrows her eyes at him. " _Profilers_."

He gives her one of his pillows and she settles against it.

They watch the movie in comfortable silence for a while.

Skye seems impressed with the quality of the acting. She keeps slipping from her seat, taking up space in his bed, and in the end she's comfortably perched on his shoulder. Coulson doesn't mind and the idea that this is inappropriate lasts until he notices how warm Skye feels against his body and how right it feels to have her here, to be sharing a bed with her. It feels as right as seeing her drive Lola earlier.

"Do you have wear that to bed or it's for my benefit?" Skye asks, gesturing towards his arm in a sling. "Because I'm not grossed out or anything."

"Honestly? It's more comfortable," Coulson tells her. "It's not – it still hurts to rest it. The tissue is still tender."

She stares at him like she is trying to gauge the sincerity of his answer, making sure he's not lying to make her feel better. There's not much he can say that would convince Skye that losing a hand doesn't feel shitty (it does, it feels shitty and unfair and it's frustrating) but in this case he's telling the truth. Once she seems satisfied he is indeed telling the truth she drops her head against his shoulder again.

Eventually they both become restless. The movie ends and they are left drifting through channels, until they find some asinine sports programme they can both tolerate.

Skye moves closer, pressing her whole side against him, drapping her arm over his elbow, her knee hot and nice against his hip. He can feel her chest against his arm.

Coulson's pretty sure this constitutes cuddling. He's not bothered by it. He's not even bothered by not being bothered by it. But he can see Skye's eyes dart over his chest, looking like she's done something horrible to him and doesn't know how to apologize. He cuts her off before she can even try.

"Nothing that happened is your fault, Skye. You know that. Right?"

She moves her head to nose his shoulder a bit, and Coulson feels the caress through the fabric, Skye speaking in a soft voice.

"I know. Sort of. But it's not your punishment either." He frowns. "For messing around with forces of the universe or whatever you think you did."

"No, it's not a punishment," he agrees. " _This_ saved my life. I was going to die. I'll remember that. That I was glad to be alive. And now, right this moment, I am really glad to be alive."

He thinks it's a bit bold, but he feels bold. He guesses he's a bit entitled to.

But he means it too.

If losing his hand means he can live on and if living on means ending up in this bed with Skye, then maybe it's not all tragedy.

He moves from under her so that he can slip his arm around her shoulder. Skye shifts and lets him, like it's the most natural thing to do, and soon she's resting her chin on his chest. 

God it feels good.

He feels very glad to be alive indeed.

"Does it still sting?" Skye asks.

"A bit."

She says nothing and she presses her cheek to his shoulder tighter.

They stay like that for a while, with the meaningless buzzing of the tv for company. Definitely cuddling, he thinks. Definitely doing something they shouldn't, something dangerous. Not more dangerous than almost dying, which hey, gives Coulson an edge. But everything is warm, soft edges, like a good dream, and he feels all caught up in it. Skye's bare feet tapping casually against his ankle, the line of her neck disappearing under that bathrobe, her not-quite-dry-yet hair on the pillow, her scent, her warmth, her kindness towards Coulson, her compassion. He draws a deep breath, lifting Skye's the side body too as his chest rises.

"Andrew told me it's bad to think about it too much," he says and Skye turns her head. "And that it's bad to not think about it at all."

She gives him an skeptical glance.

"Well, you could say the same about most things in life. Are we sure this Andrew person is not a hack?" she teases.

"I think he's right, and I've been doing some exercises."

"Exercises?"

"How much do I allow myself to think about it. How much do I get to resent it."

"And?" Skye asks.

"Right now I'm only allowed half an hour of self-pity a day. Just thirty minutes. But I can feel as bad as I want during those thirty minutes, get as angry as I want, no restrictions. I can cry if I want, too," he tells her. He's not sure if telling another person defeats the purpose of his self-contained discreet ablutions on the matter.

"Like a routine? You do it in the morning," she says.

"No, it's usually at night. When I go to bed."

Skye widens her eyes at that.

"Well, I'm sorry I'm intruding on your pity party tonight. Feel free to carry the exercise out, though, I won't disturb you."

She is trying to be light about, lifting her head from his chest and smiling up at him.

He touches her hair lightly, casually, for a moment, and draws a long, wistful breath.

"I don't think anyone could be sharing a bed with you, Skye, and feel any self-pity," Coulson tells her.

Her eyes widen even more and in the next moment he realizes he's made a mistake, gone too far.

She unentangles herself from his arms quickly, sitting up.

The warmth at his side is suddenly gone, a lot of half-formed and unrealistic hopes are gone, and he might have done something unforgivable. Coulson wants to stop her, but trying to stop her might be unforgivable too.

He should be saying something already, at least, he should be apologizing.

"It's pretty late," Skye says, lamely, not meeting Coulson's gaze. "Even – even for a vacation. I'm going to turn in."

"Skye. Wai– "

"Thanks for the uh – movie. You were right. It was pretty good. Thank you. Good night."

And she's gone.

 

+

 

She knocks on his door but there's no reply.

The door is unlocked and she just walks in. For a moment she has the absurd fear that after what she pulled last night Coulson might have left the hotel without her, stranding her in the middle of an unfamiliar town. She soon discards the idea – and not just because she sees his jacket and shirt and the sling laid out on the bed, but because Coulson would never do that, no matter what she'd done.

"Coulson?" she calls.

"In here," comes his voice from the bathroom.

She walks to the door and Coulson is standing in the middle of the bathroom, in his t-shirt and pants, looking at himself in the mirror, passing a hand over his chin.

"Well, I guess I can shave when we get back," he says. He notices Skye dressed and prepared. "I'm sorry, I just woke up. I have to shower and get ready."

Skye nods, noticing for some reason that he's barefoot. She tries to tell from his voice whether he's angry with her for last night, or if there's an opening for her to explain things. He doesn't sound angry, at least.

"You need help?" she asks without thinking.

"No, I think I can manage. I need to take care of myself," he says, lightly, turning around to face her. "Who knows when I'll be able to get some fancy robot hand. Our budget's tight."

Skye should feel relief that he's making jokes about it. It only makes her feel angrier, more impotent about the whole thing.

"I'm really sorry," she says, planting her hands on her hips, awkwardly and like the bathroom is too small to accommodate both of them. "It sucks and it's not fair. And I wish I could do something for you."

Coulson narrows his eyes at her.

"What? Do you want to wash my hair?"

Skye bites the inside of her cheek.

Okay, she should probably explain last night to Coulson before looking at him like that. She can't help it, she wants to– 

"Skye?" he calls. "Skye, I was joking."

Skye steps into his space, making Coulson flinch in surprise. She hooks her fingers on the collar of his t-shirt. Coulson shivers and steps back slightly, turning the left side of his body away, like he's trying to hide it from her. Skye can feel his pulse under her fingers, the soft hair at the top of his chest.

She presses her mouth against his.

She thought about it the whole night – that's why her eyes hurt and she feels almost hangover this morning – ever since she left his room. The sweet warmth of his shoulder under her cheek lingered for hours. Now he tastes of toothpaste and deep sleep and it's pretty much like she has imagined all night, like she imagined when they were lying on his bed and she had wanted to kiss him throught all the black-and-white movie.

When she pulls back Coulson is staring at her with an odd little frown on his face.

"That's what I have to do to get a pity kiss?" he asks, a bit angrily.

Skye's mouth falls open.

"Do you think I'd ever do that?" she asks.

The frown disappears, replaced by doubt, confusion, and something else – something soft and tender that was the reason why Skye wanted to kiss him in the first place.

"No, no," he says, gently. "But last night..."

She lets go of his t-shirt, backing down one step or two. She guesses it's fair enough.

" _I'm sorry_ about last night," she says, holding his gaze so he knows she means it. "I – I'm not sure I can explain it."

"I thought I did something wrong. I should have told you–"

Skye lifts her hand and presses it against his chest again. Somehow that gesture feels more intimate than the kiss. She can feel his heartbeat, racing, cotradicting the calm and composed tone of his words.

"You took me by surprise," she says. "But that wasn't all."

"Did I do–?"

"No, nothing wrong. It was good move, very smooth," she says, smiling a bit to make it seem less dramatic, this whole scene. "You opened up and I have this thing that when guys open up to me, it makes me impulsive and I don't think things through." She stops for a moment. Coulson is not other guys. She looks at his familiar, expressive eyes. "But with you I needed to know there was something more there. Something more and something _different_. Not just sympathy."

And she had to make sure her impulsiveness didn't ruin the best thing that had ever happened to her, among an ocean of really shitty things. 

"Sympathy," he repeats. "Pity?"

"Not pity," Skye shakes her head. "Never pity."

"You could have told me that," Coulson tells her, sounding hurt, but also like he has been paying attention. "Instead of just running out of the door."

She drops her gaze, feeling guilty. What Coulson must have felt when she left. It was a shitty thing to do, specially right now.

"I got scared," she admits. "Normally when I get scared I do stuff without thinking. I wanted to think about this."

"And have you?"

"Yeah," she replies.

Her fingers skim over his chest as she brings their mouths together again. Coulson is more responsive this time, moving his tongue slowly to her rhythm. Relief floods across Skye because this is definitely not just sympathy. She wants this. And she smiles against Coulson's mouth because she's not good at wanting things but she wants be good at wanting this. At wanting him.

But then Coulson tears his mouth away from her with a sigh.

"Skye..."

"Yeah?"

"I wasn't thinking either," he tells her. Her stomach drops, convinced he's rejecting her right now. "I do want this, but I also just cheated death for a second time. I don't want to be impulsive for the wrong reasons."

"Wow, I did not imagine we'd talk so much about this," she says. She really just wants to kiss him again. No more words, just, if he would kiss her like that once more.

But he doesn't, not right away. He wraps his right hand over her shoulder and strokes her upper arm slowly.

"We haven't talked much about us, what we mean to each other," he says. "Ever."

"I guess that's true," Skye concedes.

"Maybe that's the problem."

He kisses her.

They are stuck in some kind of kissing loop which prevents them from saying everything they want to say in one go.

But it just feels so good – almost simple, almost like there's no epic mess around them – that Skye just lets it go on for a bit. This time Coulson touches her hair as he kisses her, not pulling, just brushing his fingertips against, gingerly like he is about to disturb something. She wishes he would touch her more, but she gets why he doesn't. This kiss joyful, like they have come to some sort of resolution – at least they know how the other feels, even if they don't know what to feel about it.

This time he lets out a little chuckle when they break the kiss.

"Um, sorry," she says.

He shakes his head.

Skye grins.

Coulson touches the sleeve of her t-shirt, dropping his thumb across the skin of her arm. He seems to like that spot, Skye notices.

"I think you had the wrong approach but the right idea last night," he tells her. "I think taking it slow might be a good thing."

"Are you sure it's that and not...?"

He raises his eyebrow, catching her meaning immediately.

"Something else? That it's not that I have some obvious issues to work through here? I have some issues to work through, Skye. And as much as I want to rush into this," he squeezes her hand. "I think I should probably work on those before we start this. Do you want to tell me that losing your parents plays no role in all this?"

She closes her eyes for a moment. She hasn't wanted to think about that. But last night, after leaving Coulson's room, that was one of the million issues and reasons she went through in her mind, to be sure. She's sure losing her parents doesn't change what she feels for Coulson. She can't be sure it doesn't change the speed at which she wants to proceed. She wants him to hold her in his arms right now, but she wants it to be freely and without grief.

She runs one finger across his chest. "Okay, fair enough."

She steps back, hopefully out of immediate kissing range so they don't get back in the loop. She was the one who wanted to think about this, she can't blame Coulson for agreeing. But she lets her shoulders drop, disappointed.

"But I would like to take you up on your other offer," Coulson tells her.

She frowns. "Which was..."

"My hair," he says. "I'm tired of doing everything by myself. I could use your help."

 

+

 

"The water gets hot real fast in hotels," Skye ponders.

"You like hotels," he points out, trying to sound casual and amicable even though Skye is running her fingers through his hair in an intimate way, while she tips his head head over the sink and under the tap, and they were kissing just minutes ago. The angle is a bit awkward, the bath stool a bit too high, but soon it feels really nice, with the warm water, and Skye's hands. She's folded a towel over the edge of the sink so he wouldn't hurt his neck. That gesture got to the core of him, if he's honest.

"Yeah I do," she says. "Close your eyes," she tells him once she's finished soaking his hair.

He does.

She starts applying the shampoo generously and massaging his head. She keep a nice, rhythmic pace, pressing the pads of her fingers against his scalp. Coulson has to swallow at the shock of the touch – and he has been touched and helped with stuff a lot in the past few days, but it's always been medical, mechanical, _helpful_. Skye is gentle and playful, she's doing it for herself too.

"You're going to finish quickly," Coulson says, a bit on the defensive. "I don't have that much hair."

Skye snorts. "Yeah, okay, like you don't know."

"I don't know what?"

Skye glances around, like she's expecting to suddenly have an audience.

"That you are, you know–" she breaks off.

"No. What?"

"Sexy, whatever," she says, averting her eyes.

"Am I?" he asks.

He's enjoying this a little too much.

She turns her gaze to Coulson again, giving him a murderous look.

"I'm gonna put soap in your eyes if you don't behave."

He behaves and lets her continue.

He's not sure how long she takes. It feels like time is stretching and at the same time Coulson knows it will all feel too short a moment once they are done. He'd like to be here, under warm water, with Skye leaning over him and touching his hair, for hours.

Then his arm starts to itch unconveniently. It's not that he's ashamed but he also doesn't want Skye to have to notice how sensitive the area is yet, he doesn't want her to worry or feel guilty again. He shifts in the chair, using the fabric of his t-shirt to get some relief.

Skye looks at him.

"Itchy," he says this time. He follows her gaze. "Does it bother you?"

"What, your hand?"

" _Seeing_ it. The stump."

"I told you, it doesn't gross me out," Skye says. She sounds genuine. Coulson can't believe he can be this shallow but he's actually relieved to hear that. "But it looks like it hurt a lot."

"Well, yes, of course it hurt. Mack cut my hand without asking. It hurt a lot."

Skye smiles at him and runs a soothing hand across the back of his neck.

"Tilt your head," she tells him softly, resting her palm on the crown of his head, not pressing, just waiting for him to do it.

Coulson does as she tells him. He closes his eyes, letting the water fall over his hairline.

"Is it too warm?" she asks.

"It's perfect."

She threads her fingers through his hair, pushing the shampoo out as she goes. Her fingers go up and down, her thumb tracing behind Coulson's ear. He starts feeling all clean and relaxed, his hair shiny. Skye massages his scalp for a while. She laces her fingers behind his neck, pressing the tips against the knot of nerves.

Coulson moans.

"Does that feel good?" she asks in a low voice.

"Well, yes."

It's supposed to feel good. A beautiful woman gently massaging his scalp under nice warm water. A beautiful woman he loves. A beautiful woman he's kissed. Of course it feels good. It feels more than good. It feels awful. It feels like taking it slow might not be such a great idea after all.

"Have you done this before?" he asks her.

"Of course," Skye says. "You haven't? None of your girlfriends ever washed your hair?"

Coulson thinks about it and no, this hasn't happened to him before. And in any case it wouldn't have been like what Skye is doing right now. The circumstances – because Coulson would have trouble doing this himself. He's entrusting this shred of dignity to Skye and he thinks she gets it, how this is made doubly intimate by his limitations right now.

Another part of Skye's question picks his attention.

"Are you my girlfriend?" Coulson asks.

He watches Skye blush a little. He can't say he doesn't find that image enticing. Almost uncomplicated, among all these complication, these ruins.

Skye scoops some water and spills it over his left temple, brushing her fingers down his sideburn, scraping her short nails a little across the skin on his jaw. Coulson feels her body suddenly pressed against him when she leans over him, kissing his right eyebrow while her hand drops from Coulson's hair to cup his other cheek. He freezes.

He wants to ask what she is doing but he doesn't really want her to stop. She kisses his cheekbone, sliding her mouth over his jaw next. Her left hand slips under Coulson's head, scraping at his nape and running her fingers through the short hair at the back of his neck, and it's an entirely different touch from what she was doing before.

She's no longer washing his hair.

She starts working her mouth down the side of his neck.

"Skye..." he calls. His breath is coming in shallow gasps now.

Skay replies with a trail of kisses up along his neck, his jaw.

She moves her mouth across his cheek and catches his lips with hers. Coulson can feel her whole body tilted over to gain access, he can feel her chest pressed against his shoulder, her heartbeat. His fingers ache to touch her. For a moment that confuses him because – and Andrew warned him this was going to happen for a long, long time yet, maybe for the rest of his life – because for a moment he forgets he lost a hand, forgets it's not there anymore and he tries to flex fingers which are not there at all. 

The kiss is slightly awkward; he's upside-down and his face is all wet. But Skye's lips are soft and she brings her fingers to his chin, making him open his mouth further. She catches his bottom lip between her teeth and Coulson moans again, but not like he did before.

He can't help it, he throws his right arm around Skye's waist and pulls her to him, tugging her across his lap. Skye's weight on him is a blinding sensation, too much and too sweet at the same time. He sits up in the stool, just a bit, to kiss her better, to feel her breasts pressed against him and her whole body touching him, and water drips all over his face and into their mouths, slippery kisses while his hand comes to rest between her shoulder blades.

Last night he had wanted her so much, her warmth against his body, sharing a bed, her dark skin against the white robe, the way Coulson just wanted to part that robe and touch her skin slowly and forever.

Now this girl is in his lap – well, he put her there. He feels himself grow hard immediately against her ass. Skye groans his name into his mouth, a sound of such raw need that it actually scares the shit out of Coulson. His hand moves helplessly on her back, twisting into her t-shirt, pulling. He can get enough of touching him and not in a million years he'd tought what he'd resent about having just one hand is not being able to touch people (never thought they'd be much of it in his future, hand or no hand, _touching_ people) and now he curses it, he curses his stupid amputated arm laying uselessly on Skye's thigh when he could have been touching her more.

It's a bit too much – not just that, not the regret, the vague feeling of inadequacy he swears he will get rid of before starting this because it's not something Skye should ever have to deal with – it's a bit too much, her weight, her mouth, that hot spot on her nape, right above the collar of her t-shirt.

"Skye. You have to stop," he says. "I have to stop."

She draws back, eyes big and lips red-ish and Coulson wants to say to hell with good intentions, except he knows Skye deserves good intentions, and they deserve a chance to do this properly. He deserves this.

"Seriously?" she asks.

" _Seriously_.

She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him into a hug – Coulson can feel the water dripping over, and the collar of Skye's t-shirt getting wet. She sighs against his neck and says "Okay, okay" very softly. And softly she disentangles herself from Coulson's grip, but she stays where she is on his lap.

Coulson touching his damp hair a moment.

"I think I should finish this on my own," he says.

Skye lets out a disappointed noise.

He brushes the curve of her wrist, pressed to his chest.

"Taking it _slow_ , remember?"

"We won't always have a hotel room for ourselves," she points out. "This is quite –"

"Fortuitous? Yes. But I'm _the Director of SHIELD_. I'm sure I can figure out something."

At that she makes a pleased sound that goes straight to Coulson's cock. Skye probably can tell. She pulls off his lap with a mysterious, satisfied smirk.

She grabs a hand towel and puts it over his head, pressing it gently to dry him off a bit. She lets out a low chuckle as she does, a gentle, intimate sound that pierces Coulson's heart. He pulls the towel off his head and stares at her. He stands up.

"Okay, I'll leave you to it, then," Skye says, backing out of the bathroom. "You... Take your time."

He gives her a half-smile, looking down at himself. "I kind of have to."

 

+

 

He's looking at her.

He's been looking at her since they got in the car and drove away from the hotel. More than looking at her. Skye would say he's been _gazing_ at her. That's it, Coulson's gazing, she's sure. It's not a bad feeling, being watched like this. It feels nice. He's slouched on the passenger's seat, head tilted, resting on the back. He still looks tired, his eyes soft and narrowed as he stares out at Skye while she drives. She's pretty sure he'll fall asleep at some point. She's borrowed his sunglasses and she steals looks at him from the corner of her eyes. Coulson looks like he's _waiting_. For something. Skye doesn't know what. She feels she's waiting for the same thing. 

"You know, I really like it. You driving. In charge," Coulson says.

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

"Ready to go home?" Skye asks him.

"If you are."

"I think I am," she tells him. "But there's no hurry."

He keeps staring at her. 

Gazing.

It's a good feeling.


End file.
